


Painless. Fearless. Reckless.

by Melas



Category: Bendy and the Ink Machine
Genre: Alcohol, Being Stupid, Curious Reader, Explicit Language, F/M, Friends don't let friends be stupid alone, Gen, Henry wishes he never agreed to this, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Reader can't feel pain, Truth and Dare, and your friends, gone wrong, her/your friends are just trying to keep her/you alive, more characters will be added when they show up, not op Reader, or fear, you - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-19
Updated: 2019-06-23
Packaged: 2020-05-14 14:09:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19274908
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Melas/pseuds/Melas
Summary: What do you get when you mix one drunk college student on a mission to complete a dare, a girl who can’t feel fear, a young man who just really wishes he never left the house, and an old studio?Bad decisions for days.[This is the Revamped version of PFR.]





	1. Prologue.

**Author's Note:**

> Hello all! This is the new and improved version of Painless. Fearless. Reckless. I hope you like it!
> 
> I'm going to try my best to make sure that the Reader is not OP or Mary-Sueish. I'm going to give her flaws to try to even out her inability to feel both fear and pain.
> 
> Yes, I am using two characters I used in another, unrelated fic. The two fics do not correlate, I just like my characters and I'm to lazy to create to totally new ones when I want the same personalities.
> 
> Enjoy!

Just like with everyone else on the planet, _“The Powers That Be”_ tended to flip-flop on what kind of hand you should be dealt with when it came to the almighty game we all call Life. Sometimes the cards they gave you would be a blessing; loving and caring parents, good friends, no financial issues for the foreseeable future, artistic talent, and passing grades.

Life would of been great, if “ _The Powers that-just-won’t-leave-you-the_ **_-FUCK_ ** _Be”_ didn’t turn around and give you a rotten hand; such as your health.

Your body was pretty much in good condition. No failing organs, no abnormal cell growth, no deadly allergies, no terminal illnesses or diseases, nothing that would land you in the hospital for an extended stay. But that could always change at the turn of a dime for you.

It took a relatively long time after your birth for anyone to realize that anything was even remotely wrong with you.

Granted, your parents were quite busy in your first couple years of life, so you couldn’t fault them for not noticing sooner, not to mention you were the first child they ever cared for, and doctors just assumed you were simply a really well behaved child when it came to your checkups and immunizations.

To your parents, you seemed like just another normal, adventurous, child exploring the world.

You loved to climb shelves, trees, and other high up places.

You got a kick out of the way that flames danced on candle wicks.

You always wanted to catch the steam from the teapot that your father put on the stove.

And like every young child you loved to put anything within your reach into your mouth, especially if they were shiny.

And pointy.

As a toddler, it was briefly believed that you were just a pretty fearless and curious child, one who got into everything and anything possible, and that you would learn not to do things once you hurt yourself. Just like everyone else.

That belief was eventually dashed.

It was just a normal day for your two-and-a-bit year old self. Your mother, being the high-profile defense attorney that she was, was at work while your father was at home with you.

At this point in time you were unaware of the fact that he had left his job as a cop to help raise you, unwilling to allow a nanny to parent you like your mother offered while the two of them were at work.

You and your father were in the backyard and you were happily sitting in the plush grass underneath the treehouse that your dad was slowly building. Said parental unit was, at the time, pulling weeds not even five feet from you when you grew bored and wandered off towards your favourite tree. A sturdy pine that had low hanging branches and a trunk that grew slanted in such a way that climbing it was so easy your dog could do it.

Deftly, especially for your age, you swiftly climbed the aging pine before your father even noticed you had vacated your spot. And by the time he did you had climbed far past the slope and proceeded to go up it’s vertical branches. Before your name could even leave his lips the branch you were reaching for slipped through your fingers, unknowingly cutting the fleshy palm of your hand, and caused you to lose your balance.

Your body harshly fell, hitting limb after limb and snapping stick after stick. Your velocity and speed made the occasional pine needle pierce your skin and the bark scrape it up. Your body hit the ground so hard that the crack that was heard at the impact was not the broken bits of tree you fell on but your ribs.

Throughout the entire experience the only sound you made was an involuntary _‘oof’_ as air left you once your body hit the ground.

Your dad rushed over to you frantic and freaking out way more then you were. You sat up easily, headless of the multitude of injuries you sustained, and simply huffed in irritation. You had been doing so well and now you were back at square one.

That’s the moment you father got an inkling that something was wrong with you, when you cried not at what had happened to you but at the fact he refused to let you get up and try again.

After your were patched up at the hospital testing was done to see what caused your lack of reaction to such painful injuries. You weren’t crying because of the wounds, nor flinching when they were touched and manhandled. For a brief while the doctors believed that you were simply in a very severe state of shock, but that was thrown out when you didn’t show any other signs of being in shock. In fact you were smiling and babbling happily at the personal taking care of you.

After the tests were done it was determined that you had congenital insensitivity to pain, or CIP for short.

In layman terms you couldn’t feel pain.

The pressure of a hug, or a pen in your hand, and even temperature, could be felt, but you couldn’t recognize when something was hurting you. Like a cut to the hand, needles in your skin, or broken ribs.

This news lead to your parents being overly attentive and concerned for you well-being. They were always worried you would be one of the people who died in childhood because of your condition.

And your health issues didn’t end there.

It was sometime around your seventh birthday when your second “ _issue_ ” was discovered. It was amazing that it was found out at all, since you didn’t experience many of its physical symptoms, and what you did could be easily mistaken for your constant mishaps with your CIP.

You were just going in for a CT scan to see if you had fractured your skull in your latest incident involving a bike, a wagon, and a large polar bear-like dog, when an eagle-eyed technician spotted something rare.

Or, well, even _rarer_ than CIP.

Calcification centered around your medial temporal lobes. Closer examination showed that your amygdala was utterly destroyed. Tests showed that while you still experienced most emotions you could no longer feel fear.

You were fearless and could not feel pain.

And for a child, for anyone really, that was _dangerous_ to your well-being.

Your friends and family got even more protective of you after that diagnosis.

This lead to your parents deciding that it would be best to be brutally honest with you when teaching you about the world, and to not sugar coat anything for you. Despite how much it hurt them they figured it was better to have you worried, which was the closest to fear that you could get, and vigilant than naive and careless.

It was repeatedly drilled into your head what was considered “ _good_ ” and “ _bad_.”

  1. You shouldn’t go up to hug random strangers without someone you knew, because you never know if that person will use you the way no child should. No matter if they offered you candy or pleas to help find their lost dog. Doing that is “ _bad_ ” and could end with you lifeless and in a ditch on the side of the road. Mommy and daddy would be sad.  

  2. If someone who is not a cop points some kind of weapon at you, a loved one, or anyone else that is “ _bad_ ” and it would be best to get away as fast as you can, and don’t forget to call the cops because you wouldn’t want that to happen to someone you knew. They, or you, could be killed! And that would make mommy and daddy very sad. Which would “ _bad_.”  

  3. If there is anything going through your skin it’s more than likely “ _bad_ ” and should be dealt with by and adult or a professional. Don’t take it out without asking because doing so could cause you to bleed out and die.  

  4. Blood oozing for more than fifteen seconds is more than likely “ _bad_ ” and should be dealt with accordingly. If a bandaid doesn’t stop it get and adult or a professional.  

  5. No matter how interesting or cute any creature is, stay a good distance away. They may try to hurt you and no one would be able to get you to a hospital in time. Also “ _bad_.”  

  6. No matter how much someone bugs you don’t take the drugs or drink they offer, you have enough problems to worry about. Doing so is “ _bad_.”  

  7. Going anywhere alone is “ _bad_ ,” because the world is mean to girls who go to places alone.  

  8. If you don’t know if something is “ _good_ ” or “ _bad_ ” call the people in your contacts, they’ll set you right. If they can not be reached call 3-1-1 for non emergencies and 9-1-1 for emergencies and explain your situation.



Your parents even helped you remember the types of faces people make when scared, uncomfortable, or in pain, which helped you out a lot when it came to figuring out social cues. You weren’t up to par to most people, but you were good enough to function in most settings. And if you tripped up, that’s what your friends were for.

Devon and Ryan, your childhood friends who took it upon themselves to help you not kill yourself. They both understood that you couldn’t truly comprehend some things, no matter how hard you tried, and you were forever thankful for them. You’re certain that if they weren’t in your life to prevent you from doing something “not good,” you’d probably be dead by now.

They, and your parents, all helped you survive to your current age of twenty, almost twenty-one.

You were in college now, had been for almost four years, alongside your two friends. The three of you had decided upon the same school, one that would suit all of you, and, with some help from your and Ryan’s parents, were renting a decent sized house nearby.

That was a good thing that was dealt you, the fact the your mother was a high-profile defense attorney, and that she was more than willing to lend you three money for a house until you all could get decent jobs.

Ryan’s parents would help when they could, but they needed the money more often than not. Devon’s parents, on the other hand, refused to help their son in any way, shape, or form as long as he continued to hang out with his “hellbound” friends.

Devon’s parents were against the idea of their son living with a woman he wasn’t married to, especially one with your….. _abnormalities_ , and with a guy whose “sinned” as much as Ryan has. It was a good thing Devon was old enough to make his own decisions concerning where he lived.

The three of you found it hilarious how many people believed you were sleeping together in some kind of polyamorous relationship.

Well, you and Ryan did, Devon found it a nuisance seeing as any girl he went after either didn’t want to chance the rumors being true or hoped that they were.

You were just good friends who decided it was easier to function as adults together than alone. Nothing more, nothing less, but it seemed not many people were inclined to believe any of you.

Despite your odd health issues, your life was good. It just came with a few extra hardships, but that’s what made everything interesting.

And then Life, “ _The Powers That Be_ ”, or whatever you want to call it decided to throw another curve ball at you.

It all started with a stupid _dare_.


	2. Chapter 1: Dare

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It all began with a dare. A stupid dare made by stupid college kids at an equally as stupid party.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note, Ryan is supposed to be drunk, so I tried to make it seem like his speech is slurred. Devon has..... some kind of accent. Devon is based off a friend of mine, and Real Life!Devon speaks like Fiction!Devon. RL!Devon has, like, some odd blend of a southern and Boston accent, I think. I don't think his accent can be classified. But I shouldn't talk. Apparently I have a French/British/Scottish accent, and I was born in Colorado!
> 
> Anyways!
> 
> Thank you to everyone whose left a comment, checked out the story, and/or left a kudo!

It all began with a dare. A stupid dare made by stupid college kids at an equally as stupid party.

And you were just _stupid_ enough to allow Ryan to take it, to help him complete it.

You weren’t even drunk! Why did you go along with it!?

Well, at least you weren’t alone….

 

It was a Friday night when your roommate and friend, Ryan, dragged you and your other roommate, Devon, to a party at some frat house. Usually you and Devon refused to go to such places, seeing as those type of things just weren’t your scene. Plus, on those rare occasions when you did decide to go out, it was almost a guarantee someone would make a lewd comment about you living with two dudes and they would usually always ask if they could ever join in.

It wasn’t even like that! You trusted Ryan and Devon, loved them as brothers, and you knew them since elementary school. You all were just good friends who decided to live together to alleviate the cost of living as true adults.

Better to live together and suffer together then to suffer and struggle alone, was your logic.

And it was working out pretty well. The only downsides were Ryan’s drinking and partying, Devon bringing home all types of bugs and plants, and your excessive buying of art supplies. At least Ryan didn’t bring his vices home, Devon kept his stuff in his room, and you all made sure that you could still help with the bills. Bills none of you _truly_ had to worry about, due to your parents willing to pay them, but the three of you still tried to help nonetheless. None of you were comfortable being moochers forever.

That brings you to your current situation.

It had been a very stressful couple of weeks full of exams, working, and just general attempts at trying to be real adults. Ryan believed you all needed to relax, and what better way than to go to a near the end of the semester party?

You and Devon just looked at each other, both thinking of several hundred things that would be more relaxing than a party, but in the end you both relented and got ready to go out, to the delight of your tall, shaggy-haired friend.

It took less than ten minutes for you to get ready. You didn’t care enough to change out of your outfit that consisted of a baggy t-shirt, jeans, and an old pair of converses. Grabbing your favourite satchel that already held your wallet and emergency umbrella, you collected several more items that your father gave you the day you left for college; a can of police grade pepper spray, a collapsible keychain baton, a small first aid kit, and a shitty iRonsnow hand crank charger.

…..

You father might be a _tad_ bit paranoid when it came to your safety, but you got a kick out of the baton and pepper spray so you didn’t care.

Once those where situated in the bag you looked around your room, debating if you needed anything else before you unplug you fully charged phone and went to go wait by the door. Devon took twenty minutes longer than you, heaven knows why, and the drive over was filled with idiots on the road, but eventually you and Devon begrudgingly walked behind Ryan into the frat house.

Crappy music was blaring, bodies were swaying, and alcohol was flowing.

Sweet heaven almighty, you could almost _taste_ the hormones in the air. Kinda reminded you of gym back in highschool...

Your eyes narrowed and you frowned as you briefly debated about going back to the car, having second thoughts and not wanting to deal with so many alcohol, and maybe even drug addled people. But you decided you made it this far, might as well go all the way, what did you have to lose?

Devon immediately hooked his arm around yours as you both dodge around the crowd, Ryan already lost within it (which was amazing because the dude was just over six feet), to find a semi-quiet spot. You both decided on the living room where a game of beer pong was being played. Together you sat by the fireplace, thankful that it wasn’t on and that is was clear of both  trash and people.

It took around five minutes of watching uncoordinated drunkards trying to toss a ball in a cup before someone offered you a drink and an eye wiggle.

Thankfully they left you alone after your first denial. Either those PSA’s lied or you were just lucky, but you never were pressured into drinking or doing drugs. The only thing people ever  tried to push you for was sex, and you weren’t afraid to give those types of people your two cents and a taste your knee to their crotch.

Devon sighed heavily, as the intoxicated man finally left you alone, pulled out a rubber band bound packet of multicoloured note cards from his hoodie’s pocket and handed you to them.

You huffed out a small laugh at what you guessed was vocabulary for one of his classes. Understanding what he wanted, and not wanting to drink and mingle despite you agreeing to come, you began quizzing your friend. This gained you both some odd looks, but no one did anything about it. It was actually rather peaceful, once you got used to ignoring the noise of the rabble around you.

It was after someone belly flopped on the beer pong table, over an hour later, breaking it that the people around you began a game of truth or dare. You thought it was all rather juvenile of them, but then again you didn’t make a habit of going to parties, so maybe this was a normal frat party activity.

You and Devon both tried your best not to sneer in disgust at some of the dares, not wanting to catch the eye of a short tempered drunk looking for a fight. But, honestly, some of those dares were just….. did they seriously have _no_ shame? There was a fine line between bravery and stupidity, and you should know seeing as you frequently flirted with that line, despite your best not to. Besides, you were certain some of the things they were doing was illegal in several states.

The two of you continued to ignore the idiotic people close to you, hoping that no one would include you in someone’s dare, when you heard Ryan’s name being called. Devon and yourself looked over to see what your taller friend was doing.

A girl you didn’t know was giggling and hanging off Ryan’s arm, who didn’t look as drunk as he usually did this far into a party (aka he wasn’t passed out, stumbling, or slurring words), and was loudly daring him.

“ _R~y~a~n!_ ” The way she attempted to make her sing-song voice sound sexy made you shiver unpleasantly, “I-I dare _you_ **_*giggles*_ ** I dare you t’go to….to _D~r~e~w_ Studios. An’ ya godda stream it too.” The girl giggled, as if she said the most amusing thing in the entire world.

Ryan grinned, a look of pure determination taking over his flushed face as the people around him agreed with the dare, egging him to take it.

Devon’s face went slack as he shuffled his vocabulary cards nervously, you sighed heavily in resignation and wished you grabbed a drink or two after all.

You knew that look. There was no way either you nor Devon were ever going to deter him, and you didn’t trust his drunk ass alone.

Devon quickly jumped up and stood on the fireplace, a worried look plastered on his sepia, reddish brown face, and three shaky fingers in the air, “We volunteer as tribute!”

Apparently Devon was thinking along the same line as you.

You sighed again and stood, slipping the flashcards from Devon’s hand back into his hoodie’s pocket. Guess you were going to try and keep your mildly drunk friend from dying in an abandoned studio in the middle of the woods.

Eh. You’ve done harder things before.

 _Besides,’_ you thought as you eyed the young alcoholics in the making, _‘this could work out for me.’_

Without pause you walked over the broken ping-pong table and stepped up onto the litter ridden couch. Cupping your hands over your mouth you hollered to get everyone’s attention. “HEY! LISTEN UP ASSHOLES!”

Remarkably you got their attention _and_ no one threw anything at you. One point for you.

“If Ryan’s going to do this dare,” the idiots cheered and jostled each other with their back slapping, “we’re going to need some things so we don’t get caught, and, or, so we don’t die. And no one wants to be blamed for either of those, _right_?”

The people were either really drunk or really stupid to believe anything you said. Or both.

You were inclined to believe that it was probably both. Which was a good thing, seeing as they were more inclined to do as you said.

Then again, most people knew who your mother was, so maybe that motivated them?

“First off, we need backpacks or some kind of bags, then we need gloves, at _least_ fifty dollars, and maybe some masks, the building’s old, and I don’t plan of dying of asbestos. Also we need some food, water bottles, flashlights, and that man’s pocket knife!” You sprouted off each item then ended with pointing a single finger to a young man with an obvious lump in his pocket.

The young man blinked slowly and hesitantly pointed to himself, “M-me?”

You nodded, still pointing. “Yes. I know you have one.” You put both of your hands on your hips, “You all want Ryan to get into Drew Studios, right? Well, a knife will make it easier.” Not really. You just wanted the knife you knew he had. You’ve never seen the building outside of pictures your art teacher showed the class, but you were sure that there was someway to get inside without having to pick a lock. And like you said, the building was old you felt confident that you could take any door down if needed. Hell, you could consider it practice for you 4th dan black belt!

Nobody moved for a long while after you spoke. You raised an eyebrow and crossed your arms. “Well, do ya want a show or not? Get going!”

You stepped off the couch as the part of the crowd that wanted to see something illegal happen scrambled to gather the things you said you required, while the rest of them either tried to convince Pocket Knife Guy to hand over the knife or watched the chaos you caused unfold.

It was the girl who was hanging off Ryan who eventually persuaded the guy to give you the knife.

What she did to do that left you in awe and mild discomfort. That girl was either really drunk or really confident in herself, kind of inspiring, in a way.

Fiddling and getting acquainted with your newly acquired weapon, which turned out to be a red Swiss Army knife with a yellow dog on it (fucking _score!_ ), you waited next to your friends. Devon, in all of his four foot ten glory, was berating and trying to get Ryan to back out of the dare.

"Come on man! It’ll be fun! Where’s your sense of a’venture! ‘hink of the _views_ dude _._ ”

It wasn’t working out so well.

Devon’s eye twitched as he gave his deadpan answer, “Left ‘em back home with Teresa.”

“Your pet spider doesn’ count, Shortstack.”

“Think of the jail time!”

“We have a kickass lawyer on our side if we get caught, we’ll be fine.”

The shorter one of your friends groaned and turned towards you, “[Name]! [Name], do somethin’, talk ‘im outta this craziness!”

Your shrugged as gently dragged your thumb down the largest blade of knife, unable to feel it barely breaking the epidermis, “Nah.”

Devon sputtered, you grinned.

“N-nah, ya say? Fuckin’ _nah_ ? The dude gonna get ‘imself caught or somethin’ an’ all ya can say in _‘nah’_?” His incredulous tone of voice made your lips twitch in amusement.

Ryan laughed and slapped Devon’s back as he slightly slurred his words, “Two ‘gainst one, we win!”

Devon ignored him and looked at you in disbelief, waiting for your answer.

You snapped the knife back into its home and clenched your fist around the four inch handle. With a smile you looked at your worried friend with a small reassuring smile, “We volunteered as tribute. Can’t go back on that.”

“B-but, _[Name]!_ ” Devon whines as he floundered to try to think of something that would make you convince Ryan to back out.

“B’sides,” your shrug, placing the knife into your pocket, “can’t make Drunk Ryan do anything he doesn’t want to,” here said drunk young man began nodding in agreement, “might as well tag along and make sure the dumbass doesn’t do anything _too_ illegal or off himself in some stupid way. Kinda assumed that was my job.”

Ryan kept nodding for a few more seconds before what you said hit is alcohol soaked mind, “Wha- _Hey_!”

Devon snorted, a smile fighting its way onto his still worried face. Given him a sort of pinched look.

“And you can go home, or stay in the car or something if you really don’t want to go. I’m can handle him, we won’t make you.”

Devon laughed hysterically, and sarcastically, at that.

“Yeah, no,” he finally said with a look of pure incredibility, “leave my drunk friend with zero inhibition with the friend who woulda know what danger was if it punched her in the kisser, I’mma not livin’ with that kind’a guilt, m’kay?”

Ryan swung an arm around the both of you, pulling you two into a three way hug, “Great! Now I need help comin’ up with a Youtube name.”

It was official then. The three of you were going to break into an abandoned animation studio from the twenties and livestream the proof to a Youtube channel that Ryan made as you and Devon argued. All for a dare.

It was decided, with no real input from you or Devon, that the channel’s name would be DrewStudiosLive.

…...

Drunk!Ryan wasn’t a very imaginative Ryan.

Throughout your conversation, and about fifteen minutes after, all the items you requested had been collected, plus some.

Apparently the hosts of the party were very generous when intoxicated.

The items were all in a pile before you, consisting of an ugly neon green drawstring bag, an old soccer duffel bag, an open box of plastic gallon bags, six mismatched winter gloves in varies colours and sizes, a butt load of washcloths, towels, some bandannas, some left over, half full, bags of chips, sandwhiches shoved into some of those gallon bags, unopened water bottles, a pack of canned beers, and a plastic baggie with cash (fucking _yes_ , they fools did it!).

In lieu of a flashlight someone was smart enough, or drunk enough, to throw in a tub of glow sticks. On top of all that some smartass donated a first aid and condoms with a note that said, ‘ _have fun b 4 u die :P_ ’ on it.

Your rolled your eyes at the last item and threw the condoms up into the air so they fell into the crowd. You heard a few cheers at that.

Turning back to the small pile you happily divided your haul between the duffel, drawstring, and your own shoulder bag. You patted the first aid kit, wondering if you should be the one to carry it, before placing it in the duffel and with the beers. Meanwhile, Ryan wrote the name of the new Youtube channel down so that people knew where to tune in, and Devon left to get the car ready, silently bemoaning his fate the entire time.

You and Ryan left the house with people cheering you on, wishing you luck, and throwing more glowsticks in the air, distantly reminding you of when people used to throw rice at weddings.

The laughter bubbling in your chest couldn’t be stopped, even once your were in the back sear of the car and on your way to the studio. You just couldn’t believe that you got a houseful of your drunken peers to just hand over free shit all because you said you’d need it to complete some stupid _dare_. You continued to chuckle to yourself as you counted the money they collected. Maybe you should go out to parties with Ryan more often, who knows what you could convince people to give you if you said it was for their entertainment.

“Sooooo…..” Devon drawled, not taking his eyes off the road, “what we need fifty doll’rs for? It’s not that far, so it’s not for gas.”

Snickering you answered, “We don’t _need_ it.” You waved the bag of money around, “This is merely….. a…... donation, if you will. A wish for good luck.”

Quite, then Devon snorted and briefly looked in the rear-view mirror at you. “You just wanted their money, didn’tcha?”

You nodded once with a giant smile on your face,  “I just wanted their money. And the knife. Got me a pretty sweet knife. I think it has, like, ten functions, _at least_.” You looked back down at the money, the smile growing into a smirk, “They did good. Got way more than fifty here. After this is over with we’re eating out someplace that’s not Jack in the Box or Wendy’s.”

This time it was Ryan who spoke, who had been silent until now because he found the beer in the duffle. “‘ow much yo-you got there?” He ended with a burp, which he blew into the driver's face from his spot in the front. Devon wrinkled his nose but otherwise didn’t react.

Humming happily, and placing the cash into your bag, you answered “Almost eighty. And stop it, save those for later!”

Groaning in disappointment, Ryan tilted his head back to chug the rest of his drink before crushing the can and tossing it on the floor.  
“Ei- _eighty_ bucks?” Devon threw his head back and cackled at that, then continued to mumble about how maybe the night wasn’t going to be so bad after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments, questions, concerns, haikus, or poems? See a mistake in grammar or spelling? Let me know!
> 
> Until next time~!!
> 
> Melas


	3. Chapter 2: Mr. Udall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A 'Mysterious Figure' blocks you way into the studio, is it friend or foe?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone whose checked out this story, bookmarked, left a kudos, or commented!

It was halfway through the roughly hour long trip, and after several wrong turns despite the GPS, that Devon spoke up with a hesitant laugh in his voice, “Guys….. I’mma  **_*nervous chuckle*_ ** I’mma not gonna lie, I’m sorta nervous.”

Within that time Ryan had snuck another beer, and seemed like he was gearing up for his third. You had given up trying to deter him from drinking any more halfway through his second drink. The bastard could be ridiculously determined, especially when it came to his alcohol.

“How ya ner’ous with a s-s-su-sunrise ‘ike that!” Ryan gestered out the window, the alcohol obviously getting to him.

“‘cause I know what's sittin’ there b’neath it.”

“Daylight. Morning.”

“An aband’ned house. Where the wanna be cultist ‘pposedly go. I hate cultists! Damnit Ryan, why you like this?”

“Voodoo Ranger.” You piped, eyes on the small pile of crushed cans of said beverage.

Devon groaned.

“All I’m sayin’, is that we’ve all heard ‘bout the fucked up shit that people say happen’ up there.”

“No ‘uch thin’ as dem’ns.”

“That’s what  _ you  _ think! You know that there’s been record of what them cultist been doin’ up there, tryin to summonin’ Satan and shit and whateva else Satanist do.”

“Ya, people ‘ike you.”

Devon reared back into his seat, mildly offended, “How am I the same as them jackwads?”

“‘Cause ya b’lieve everythin’ they b’lieve.”

“Well, yeah, but I r‘spectfully stay away from it. That’s the opposite-”

“Nah, two sides, same coin.”

“Well, yeah. Ya just gotta ‘cide what side ya on.”

“I’m a…. Whole ‘nother coin.”

Devon raised an eyebrow and gave Ryan a brief look, “What coin’s that?”

With a slowly blink the taller of the duo responded, “Uhhhhh. Just a….. Chill-ass whe-wheat back penny.”

You spent the rest of the trip just listening to your friends go back and forth, thoroughly amused. Eventually, the GPS announced that you had reached your destination, which was simply an old dirt driveway winding up a forest covered hill.

You and Devon had debated about how close you should park, not trusting Ryan to not somehow get the cops called on him for being a nuisance or something, and Devon didn’t want to be where the car could be traced to the break in. It was decided to park in the city that sat about a block away from the studio’s driveway.

By the time Devon parked the car, day had broken and Ryan was humming nonsense to himself while slightly swaying, but not dangerously so. Once out and walking you handed Devon the drawstring bag, seeing as Ryan confiscated the duffle and you already had your own.

Starting up the path Ryan began to start the stream and turned on his phone flashlight to see better in the predawn light. Everything was peaceful to you. The slight breeze swaying the barren trees around you, the beautiful sunrise making its slow ascension in front of you, casting a dark purple hue upon the world. You thought its was breathtaking.

Devon thought is was creepy as hell.

“Theres…. There’s no birds. Everythin’ looks dead as fuck. I don’t hear jack other than the wind and us. I really don’t like this guys.”

Patting the nervous young man on the arms you tried to console him, “We’ll be gone soon. Get in, spend a few minutes looking around, then get out. Simple.”

“Yeah,” he nodded, “simple.” With an obviously fortifying breath Devon spoke to Ryan, “Can ya, at the very least, do nothin’ to provoke or invite what eva maybe out here?”

Looking backwards towards you two with a drunken grin Ryan wiggled his eyebrows, “You gonna needa clean-lense, cleanse yaself.”

And with that the dumbass turned to the forest, “Any d’mons here?”

“Oh sweet Lord Almighty, Ryan  _ why _ .”

“Any d’mons out tonight?”

“Ryan, no!”

You glared at your friend, slowly losing any amusement you felt. This was being mildly malicious in your eyes.

“Got any demons out tonight? Any... horny boys or whatever they-”

“ _ Horny _ boys?” You couldn’t help but to interrupt with an incredulous snort.

“They go- **_*burps*_ ** -got horns!”

You scoffed and rolled your eyes, “This is a serious thing to Devon, dipshit. Knock it off.”

“Fine.” He relented and dug another beer from the duffel he carried with one hand, still streaming with the other.

The spindly man was way,  _ way  _ beyond tipsy by the time the gate to the studio was in view.

Said gate was rusted, covered by nature, and hanging way off its hinges that a car could easily drive through it. The three easily walked past it unheaded. Which was a good thing because Ryan was to uncoordinated to climb it. You began thinking that the first aid kits were going to be meant for him instead of you.

The studio was located on top of a hill that was surrounded by trees just on the edge of Redwood Regional Park. The place used to be some sort of hunting cabin, if you remembered correctly, that was bought and renovated during the Depression by Mr. Drew and his co-founder, and it used to be pretty far from civilization before the town over was built in the 1800s. Then again all of that could've been bullshit you mind made up on the spot. You mused to yourself that you’d probably check Google when you got home.

Ryan suddenly snickered and slurred horrendously, “Ja’on gonna ‘ome  **_*burp*_ ** oudda no’ere an’ ge-get us.”

Rolling his eyes Devon replied, “Oh, come on man! Don’t be goin’ an’ sayin’ shit like that, this place’s creepy ‘nough as is. I don’t need no damn Jason wanna be afta my ass. Its always the black guy thats killed first.”

You laughed at that, always amused at what you thought was an unreasonable fear. Even though you couldn’t feel the emotion you understood why people feared somethings.

Fear of needles, reasonable.

Death, also reasonable.

A fictional character like Jason, not so much.

“That or we are  _ soooooo  _ gonna get caught by the police.” Devon murmured as he looked down at his feet, mindful of the uneven ground, ignoring your outburst.

“ _ Fffffffuck _ da police!” Ryan spat and kicked the ground, losing his balance momentarily.

“Hey,” you snapped playfully, “my dad’s a cop.”

“An’ he’s a-a good piggy.” Ryan slurred and swung an arm around you. He looked seriously at your face and pointed at your nose with the arm hook around your neck, his eyes off focus, and yours crossed “You should be proud.”

You snorted, then nipped at the offending digit. Ryan yelped and yanked himself away from you.

Devon shook his head at your antics, and the irony of you being a defense attorney and cops daughter, yet were planning a break in. 

After awhile of walking up the incline, where Ryan fell down only once, causing Devon to throw out a pun about having a nice trip, and stumbled thrice, the three of you suddenly noticed a figure standing next to a running truck a good distance in front of the old studio. The headlights illuminated the back of the mystery person, and you could easily make out that the mystery person was rubbing the back of their neck as they stared at the building.

Devon paused as soon as the person was noticed and grabbed the sleeve of Ryan’s shirt to stop him while you stood on the other side of your drunken friend.

“Oh, man. Oh,  _ man _ . We dead. That’s probably security, we should just turn ‘round now.” You heard Devon mumble as he backed up a couple steps.   
  
Ryan narrowed his eyes and leaned forward slightly, almost falling over, “Wait…that car... is that….”   
  
You frowned thoughtfully and walked forward a bit to get a better look. That truck did look remarkably familiar in the light of the rising sun, hell, that license plate border looked like a  _ very  _ familiar, one of a kind, border a classmate of yours made for a beloved teacher. You broke out into a grin.

You continued to confidently walk forward, Ryan stumbling after you, and Devon momentarily frozen in place as he voiced your name with a strangled yelp before he, too, followed. After a few steps you cupped your hands over you mouth and hollered.

“Hey! Professor!” 

The figured startled and seemed to drop a piece of paper, which he ignored as he, for he was a he, spun around.

“[Name]!” The Professor's voice was layered with disbelief, his eyes wide with his shock, and a hand pressed to his chest.

You just grinned, waved excitedly, and walked faster up the hill.

“Don’t do that, you just about scared this old man to his grave.” The older man closed his eyes as he leaned heavily against his vehicle, and sighed.

Once closer you could properly see your teacher. His black hair was ruffled, as if his hands had ran through it many times, and his horizontal grey streaks were easy to see despite the early morning light above his sideburns. He was dressed in his usually outfit of black pants, matching suspenders, white tucked in button down and obscenely colourful bow tie.

“Ah, don’t be like that, Professor,” you chuckled and bent down to pick up the fallen paper, “I doubt little old me will be the one to off you.”

As you handed the paper, old, yellowing, and fragile looking, back to your professor you couldn’t help but notice his blue-grey eyes narrowed in suspicion, “What are you doing here, [Name]?”

Giving your best, cheekiest grin, you answered truthfully, “My friend Ryan was dared, and Devon, you remember him right, and I didn’t want him to be stupid alone.”

Narrowed eyes darted behind you, where your friends now awkwardly stood,  “Dared to do  _ what _ , exactly?”

Devon stuttered unintelligible nonsense and looked everywhere but at the Professor, fearfully of being caught by a staff member, of all things, from school and maybe  _ actual _ go to jail for trespassing or something. He feared this would get you all kicked out of a good school and add another thing to the list of reasons that made him inadequate in his parent’s minds. Briefly, the young man contemplated throwing himself down the hill to get out of the situation you all found yourselves in.

Ryan rolled his eyes, pointed over your shoulder at the building in sullen silence, and then pouted at the comments he could see popping up on his phone, not happy that he was stopped while he was  _ so close _ to completing his dare.

You face relaxed into a pleasant smile, fearing nothing as you looked at your favourite professor, as you rocked back and forth on you heels, your arms behind your back.

The professor pinched the bridge of his nose at your look of utter innocence, and tilted his head to the ground, “And what, pray tell, will happen if your friend doesn’t go through with this dare?”

“Oh, utter humiliation of course!” Maybe you sounded too chipper at that?

“Do ya haveta act so happy ‘bout the situation?” Devon groaned and looked up at the sky, as if praying for some kind of spiritual intervention.

You felt Ryan lean forward on your shoulder. His own, slightly out of focus, eyes narrowed in a suspicious glare, “Whad  _ you  _ doin’ here, Mist’r? Hidin’ bodies?”

The professor looked at him and frowned, “Are you drunk.”

“No, ’m Ryan, thought we said that. And a ‘M. Hoffner’ says ‘hi Mr. Udall!’.”

The professor blinked slowly, “....Good morning Madeline.”

You snorted, Devon buried his face in his hands and moaned to himself.

“You know why we’re here, Professor, and I highly doubt you're here for the same reason. I don’t remember seeing you at the party. It wouldn’t of been such a drag if you were.”

The older man obviously tried to stop the smile that was creeping across his face, but he was unsuccessful. The small smile turned to a contemplative frown as he looked down at the slip of paper, “An old friend back from my animation days wants me to see something.”

Your eyes drifted to what must've been a letter, an old one too. You frowned, “Hey, Professor?” you started slowly, “how long have you had that, it looks like you’ve had it since the war.”

He snorted and raised a thick eyebrow at you, “That’s the kicker, I got this a couple days ago.”

“What,” you blinked in shock, “the dude doesn’t have anything newer? I’m serious when I’m saying that looks like it was made in the forties.”

“I don’t know, I haven’t seen Joey in almost seventy years, while the letter says thirty the envelope it was in was newer looking and had Joey’s handwriting on it…..” The guy trailed off, as if he wanted to say more.

Devon’s face wrinkling in thought went unnoticed.

You blinked slowly at that, not at the amount of years that had passed but at putting two and two together. And old friend who your professor hasn’t seen for nearly seventy years who wants to meet him at his old, seemingly abandoned, studio? Based on the stories your professor loved to tell in class you could only come to one conclusion.

“What does Mr. Drew want to show you after all these years?”

He shrugged, “That’s what I’m here to find out.”

You didn’t like this. From what the professor said, Mr. Drew and himself didn’t part on good terms. _ At all _ . Sure, old age and time passing could of cooled off Drew’s temper, but the way the professor described his old friend made it seem like the guy could hold a grudge forever. And you knew, through some of the accounts about your parents jobs, that grudges held for so long didn’t end well. There was also one other thing that was bothering you.

“Is Mr. Drew even, you know…..  _ alive _ ?”

Your professor looked back at the letter, a look of utter sorrow etched onto his face, and you kind of regretted even asking. But that letter could of been in the mail for years, based on how old it was, and Mr. Drew was an old friend of Mr. Udall, who despite his looks was not young.

Ryan, still leaning on you, snickered, “‘course he’s alive, dead men don’t send no le-ledders.”

You ignored him, and his breath, and tried to change the subject, “Well, think Old Drew will mind if you have some tag-alongs? We can say it’s for my end of the semester project, or that we’re your grandkids.”

That wiped the sorrow almost completely from his face, though it still lingered in his eyes, and he gave you a look of pure exasperation, “You haven't started it, have you.”

You grinned. Exasperation towards your almost due project was better than sadness.   
He just stared at you three. Devon shifted nervously behind you, Ryan swaying slightly, and you just smiling away. Finally, after a handful of seconds, he sighed, turned to turn off and lock his truck, and beckoned you to follow him to the building, “I guess we're all going in then, knowing you, [Name] you’d find a way inside just to spite me.”

Ryan whooped, and threw his hands in the air. Devon heaved a sigh of pure relief, and you skipped after your teacher, “You’re awesome Mr. Udall, a real life sava!”

“Yeah yeah, you brats. Come on.”

“Told you guys he was the coolest. And you know me so well, old man.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can you spot the Buzzfeed Unsolved reference?
> 
> And whats up with Joey, forgetting how long he's seen Henry???
> 
> Comments, questions, concerns, haikus, or poems? See a mistake in grammar or spelling? Let me know!
> 
> Until next time~!!
> 
> Melas


	4. Chapter 3: Of Cutouts and Locked Doors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You're in the studio, but where'd your shadow go?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let’s pretend that the rooms are slightly darker then they are in the game. Okay? Good. Great. Fantastic. Thanks for participating.
> 
> Thanks to everyone whose checked out this story, bookmarked, left a kudos, or commented!

“So…. this is your old studio.” You said as you eyed the old, semi-graffiti covered building. It looked stable enough for a building that was over a hundred years old, but it didn’t look well cared for. 

“I promise, it looked better than this when I left.” The old man sighed as he looked upon his old work place.

You stood behind Mr. Udall as he knocked on the discoloured, graffiti ridden, wooden door, rocking on your feet as the seconds ticked by. Your drunken friend was still leaning heavily on you and was talking to the stream, informing them of what was happening. Devon shifted nervously every now and then off to your left, his shoulder lightly brushing yours, which you figured comforted him so you didn’t mind. 

Ryan quickly grew impatient with the wait though, and reached around your professor to twist the door handle.

The door easily swung soundlessly inward. Which you thought was odd for something as ancient as it was. Perhaps, despite the outward state of the building, the rest of the place was being maintained and the doors were being well oiled. 

That vague thought was dashed as soon as the door fully opened and the four of you were instantly hit with the smell of  _ old. _

Old wood. Old books. Old air. Just…. just old  _ everything _ .

You whistled as you peered around, then walked passed, Mr. Udall, who didn’t move an inch from the doorway, the poor guy was just staring in disbelief at the inside of his old studio, your friends following behind you, “Looks like a fixer upper.”    
  
“Huh.” Ryan maneuvered his phone around so it could take in the details of posters in the dimly lit hallway with its flash that was still on as he said a very sarcastic, “Welc-welcoming.”   
  
“A little  _ too  _ welcomin’, I’d say.” Devon frowned at a dark liquid that was dripping from ceiling to floor, “Would it kill them to mop up?”   


You got closer the the dripping substance and was finally hit by its smell. Your reared back. It had a subtle smell of ink. “Oh, god. Is this a hazmat suit situation, Mr. Udall?”

The professor was at your back now, his face concerned as he, too, realized what you did. 

“I….. I think everything should be fine.” He said, voiced worried as he walked a foot into the hallway, “There seems to be enough ventilation that the fumes  _ shouldn't  _ bother us but…...” The older man sighed regretfully and shook his head, “I don’t know what Joey was thinking, but I’m not going any further then this hallway, we don’t need to risk us getting sick. Let’s go you three.”

Ryan began to whine in protest, he was up to almost thirty viewers on his stream, a record for him, “Awww, but Mr. Uda-” 

“No, Ryan.” You tone of voice pierced through Ryan’s drunken state of mind. It was one you didn’t use often, but always meant that one should listen to what you had to say, and listen well. That didn’t mean he wasn’t still reluctant to go so soon. 

“‘sides,” Devon chipped in, more than happy to go home and sleep, “the dare only said ya hadta go  _ to  _ the studio, not in it. Ya already did more than ya hadta. An’ I’m tired, we’ve been up for, like, twenty-fours hours.”

Ryan sighed dramatically and walked back to the door, as he fumbled to turn of his stream, where Mr. Udall was waiting patiently for you all to come to your decision. The old man turned towards the entrance then froze.

“Did… did any of you hear the door close?” 

Devon stiffened, you gained a thoughtful look as you looked back at the past few minutes, and Ryan slowly shook his head.

“Y-ya mean ya didn’t shut it?”

Mr. Udall shook his head in the negative.

With an eye roll you strolled towards the door, passed the frozen men, twisted the handle and pulled. 

…….

Nothing happened. The door didn’t even budge.

You blinked rapidly twice and tried again.

…….

Then  _ again _ .

You glared at the doorknob, as if it’s very existence offended you. “What in Sam heck?”

You grabbed at it with both hands, placed a foot on the frame, and pulled as you turned the handle to try to get the blasted thing to open. It didn’t make any sense to you for the door to be locked from the inside and not the outside, seeing as it was easily opened before, so it had to be stuck somehow. Maybe the ink made the wood swell or something.

“Its old, maybe pushing it will make it give?” Mr. Udall suggested as he came up to your left.

You scoffed and stopped what you were doing, switching to pushing harshly at the door with your shoulder. “If its so old, the damn thing should of opened up already.”

“Watch your language. [Name].” 

Devon without missing a beat replied in some kind of accent while he and the professor joined you in trying to push the door down, “English, wots yours?”

You and Mr. Udall snorted, still attempting to make the door move.

And still the ancient, yellowing, wooden door would. Not.  _ Budge _ . 

You growled and slammed your hand on the wall next to you before you stepped back to calm yourself. Mr. Udall took over trying to get the door open, with Devon still pushing against it.   


“.......Sooooo…..” Ryan slurred voice made you look back to see him holding up his phone’s camera at you all, apparently he was still streaming, “what kind o’ ho-ho-rror-er movie do ‘ou t’ink we walked in on? I’m-I’m gettin’ a…. a….. Cabi’ in the Woods feel.”

“What?” You snapped at him, not happy that the door bested you. The door that had to be over a hundred years old bested  _ you _ . The daughter of a cop, the girl who was currently working towards her 4th Dan black belt, and yet you  _ couldn’t open a fucking  _ **_wooden_ ** _ door whatthefuck _ .

You took several deep, annoyed, yet semi-relaxing breaths. Anger got you into stupid situations and prevented you from thinking striaght, it wouldn’t help you now.

Ryan shrugged, not at all bothered by your snapping, “‘m ‘ust sayin’. Old buid-building, middle of woods, sudden-enly locked door? We in a ho’er movie, but wha’ one?”

“Oh man, this betta not be the original Cool World,” Devon bemoaned as he lightly hit his head against the door. With his head still pressed against the immovable object he looked over at Mr. Udall, who was just staring in confusion at the handle, “if so, then ya betta watch ya back, sir.”

Mr. Udall’s attention shifted over to the young man beside him, “I don’t know what you’re talking about, kid.”

Devon simply nodded then straightened as he turned to look at everyone, “The fuck we do now?”

“I could try to kick the handle off.” You volunteered, more than happy to beat the handle down.

Mr. Udall shot you a look that screamed  _ ‘No. Don’t hurt my poor stuff, its been through enough.’ _

You tried not to pout at that, you really did.

“Well,” Your crossed your arms, distantly aware of Ryan who was slowly meandering his unstable way down the hall to the main room, “you owned the place, don’t you have a key?”

Mr. Udall rubbed the back of his neck while looking at the lock. “I do, but Joey must of changed the locks, we didn’t use barrel keys when I was around.” His brow wrinkled for a second before he turned away from the door and walked down the hall.

“We might as well go look for Joey then, just  _ please  _ be careful and don’t wander off.”

You bobbed your head in acknowledgment and Devon saluted. Hooking his arm around yours he led you to Ryan, who was investigating what appeared to be three giant film reels on the wall.

“How odd,” you murmured as you walked to the mainroom and took in your surroundings. everything looked….. exaggerated. You’re eyes roamed around the room. It was sorta like…. like….. “The entire place looks like it’s been, like, drawn, or something. Its cool. A total aesthetic.” 

You briefly looked over at Devon, who was gnawing at his lip as his eyes darted around, before you questioned Mr. Udall, “What did you guys do to make the wood do that? Look like old parchment paper, I mean, I’ve never seen it done before.”

You teacher had wandered over to the table near the center of the room, where a thick black book sat. Once he read the title he had to sit down on a nearby chair in surprise, his fingers teasing the cover, as if he was contemplating opening it but was too hesitant to do so. At your question he snapped back to reality and answered, his voice soft and slightly pained.

"I don’t…… I don’t know, the place looked  _ nothing  _ like this when I left.”

You and Devon walked over to the desk in the corner, Ryan moved on to the running projector, tripping over a few chairs on his way, and Mr. Udall stood up, book tucked under his arm, an odd look on his face.

“Maybe that’s why they went outta business,” Devon hypothesized while he lifted a film reel from the ground and spun it in his hands a few times as you picked up an adorable headshot of the studio's mascot, Bendy, and debated pocketing it, “they spent too much on makin’ the place look cool an’ not on their an‘mations.”

The dude then turned to face you and blew the dust that was coating the reel in you face. 

“Pah!” You spat and waved away the offending dust, “What are you-!? Have some decency and blow the other way, maybe? The hell.”

“Sorry!” Your friend chuckled, not sorry at all. 

Mr. Udall moved to answer but was interrupted by Ryan.

“Whoa...  _ sweet _ !” The young man laughed at a form none of you noticed shadowed in the corner nearest the running projector, “Whad up, ma dude! Wanna  **_*burp*_ ** wanna party?”

The rest of you got closer, or looked over, to see who Ryan was talking to, which turned out to be a cutout of the studio's mascot. 

You let go of Devon’s arm to get a better look at the cut out while he rolled his eyes, “I don’t think ya should be goin’ to anymore parties for awhile, McDrunk.” He shifted, looked over at the exit, and rubbed the back of his neck, “Now com’on, don’t know why we all ‘cided to snoop ‘round. Let’s just go find this Joey so we can get outta here.”

Ryan snickered and pointed his phone at Devon’s nervous form, “Dawwww, is swombuddy bein’ a scwardey cat?”

Said ‘scaredy cat’ shot the phone an unamused look, eyes squinted to protect himself from the harsh light.

“Get that outta my face ‘fore I shove it down yours.”

Ryan took a step closer, still snickering as he read a few comments from the stream.

“I mean it, McGee.” Devon’s muscles tensed, preparing to snatch the phone inching towards his face.

Mr. Udall got between the two, exasperated, trying to keep them separate, “Now boys, this isn’t the time nor place to be fighting.”

You, meanwhile, were just staring at the Bendy cutout. Something seemed off about it, like something was missing. Your eyes slowly roved up and down the cutout’s body, trying to pinpoint what was wrong with it. It seemed pretty spot on from what you could remember from the old cartoon. The pointed and curved horns were there, the cheeky grin, no neck, bow-tie, gloves, shoes……

You eyes shot back up to the empty space between the bow-tie and his head, headless of the arguing starting behind you. You grabbed the cut out and pulled it forward so you could see the back, only to be met with the same things you saw from the front. You hummed slightly, confused, and yet slightly excited at your discovery.

“ _ Bruh… _ ..” You felt the smile twitching on you lips, excited laughter bubbled behind them, “this dude’s got no neck. That’s so  _ cool _ ! How’d they do it!?”   
  
The three men looked back to you and almost harmoniously said, “What?”   
  
“The cutout.” You picked it up and brought it in front of the projector for better lighting, spinning it slowly as you spoke, “It has no neck, and there’s nothing on the back supporting it either. It not magnets, I don’t think, the heads not bobbing or anything like that.”

You waved your hand in between the head and torso, “The head is literally  _ floating _ .”

Everyone was quiet, the only thing that could be heard was the cardboard spinning upon the wooden floor and the projector’s motor.   
  
You grinned at the shocked faces, “It’s so cool! I want one.”   
  
“No. No _ nononono _ , [Name], n-not cool! Ver-very much not cool!” Devon whimpered, his eyes darting from the cutout to the rest of the room, as if he was just waiting for some unknown threat to jump out of the darkness.   
  
You pouted, slowly propping the cutout against the illuminated wall, “Oh…… soooo….it’s  _ not _ good then?”   
  
Mr. Udall nodded shakily as he slowly walked over to pull you away from the cutout. You looked at it’s illuminated form reluctantly. You didn’t see what was making everyone freakout, but it’s not like that was new, and if they felt something was wrong with it then you would try to listen. No matter how much you wanted to sneak the thing into the duffel. 

You glanced over to Ryan to see him squinting at the wall you left the cutout leaning against. Before you knew it the guy stumbled his way next to you and frantically waved his arms like he was trying to fly. You calmly moved out of his way to avoid being hit and stepped out of the light while eyeing your friend.

People do such odd things while drunk.

“Damn it, McStupid, get away from that thing!” Devon stomped, his eyes still darting everywhere are not settling on anything longer than a couple of seconds. You were beginning to regret  pointing out the weirdness of the cutout if it was pushing Devon into an anxiety attack.

A cool knife and some cash wasn’t worth that look on his face.

“I thin’ our sha’ows wen’ all Pete-Peter Pan on us.”

Mr. Udall frowned, wondering if he shouldn’t of caved so quickly in letting you and your friends follow him in, especially the drunk one.

You rolled your eyes and crossed your arms, “What are you talking about?”

He pointed forward at the wall, “No sha’ows.”

After another eyeroll you glanced over to wall, paused, then tilted your head.

He was right.

You looked over to the projector and stepped in front of it. The light  _ seemed  _ real, it was bright and doing everything a light did, but it wasn’t making anything cast a shadow. 

No. Lie. 

That was wrong. 

The surrounding chairs had shadows that flickered in time with the projector, and the projector itself and the table it was on had shadows too. Even the cardboard Bendy had one. The only things without a shadow appeared to be you and Ryan, leading you to assume the other two members in your party didn’t have one either. 

Distantly you heard Devon’s strangled groan as he crouched on the floor and held his head. You didn’t see Mr. Udall look down at the book he carried, the look on his face flashing through too many emotions to name, you were too busy investigating the second interesting find of the day.

You couldn’t help the small enthusiastic grin as you began to put together just a few pieces of the giant puzzle that the studio was turning out to be. This was going to be so much fun! You couldn’t wait to explore the rest of the building for more little wonders. 

As you went to look for Mr. Joey Drew, of course. Obviously.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> References I remember in this chapter, Gorillaz, the opening dialogue in "Saturn Blitz (Spirit House)."
> 
> Comments, questions, concerns, haikus, or poems? See a mistake in grammar or spelling? Let me know!
> 
> Until next time~!!
> 
> Melas

**Author's Note:**

> Comments, questions, concerns, haikus, or poems? Say a mistake in grammar or spelling? Let me know!
> 
> Until next time~!!
> 
> Melas


End file.
